Shouldn't You Be in School? (All The Wrong Questions)

by Lemony Snicket

“And then some friends of mine were abducted under the threat of violence and forced into a van.” I knew better than to call them associates in front of Theodora, whose definition of “associate” was “someone who has completed our organization’s formal training.” My definition was more useful. “Did you get the license number of the van?” “I don’t need the license number,” I said. “I know who was driving, and I know where it was going.” One of Theodora’s hands opened, and I could see the glitter she’d piled up inside it. Nothing else moved. “What are you going to do now?” she asked finally. “The abductors thought nobody would come after them,” I said. “They were wrong. I’m going to rescue them.” “You can’t,” my chaperone said, on the floor. “The case has been solved, Snicket. I’ve packed up my things, and I expect you to do the same. We are leaving Stain’d-by-the-Sea on the next train.” “You’re wrong,” I said. “I’m not wrong. I’ve packed my suitcase.” “You have enough wrong to fill fifty suitcases and a garment bag,” I said.